
COPmiGHT DEPOSIT. 



SWORDS FOR LIFE 



Ifit oJMi^ c,,^^ cJAX^t. %J^iv4iniL f^ t -jj^-l 

SWORDS FOE LIFE 

BY 
IRENE RUTHERFORD McLEOD 




NEW YORK 

B. W. HUEBSCH 

1916 



COPYRIGHT. 1916. BY B. W. HL'EBSCH 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 






// 



C-& 



m 24 1916 



A4881'39 



DEDICATED TO 

MY MOTHER 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

People to Poets 9 

Unfolding 12 

In the Mirror 13 

Awakening 17 

I Remember a Gusty Night 19 

Lived 21 

Winter 23 

The End 25 

Weakness 28 

Despair 30 

Green Places .i , 34 

Half-Truths 35 

Resolution ...,.- 36 

To My Friend 38 

Song 40 

Youth 42 

Love in the Pinewood 44 

World of Beauty 48 

1 Know When You are Coming 50 

Pause 51 

vil 



viii CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Harvest ... 53 

Spring and a Larch Wood 54 

March Winds 59 

Beethoven 61 

A Prayer 65 

One Mother GS 

To Kennte 71 

Fellowship 73 

The Gardener 75 

Love's Guard 78 

A Lullaby 80 

A Dream in Suburbia 82 

Voices 84 

Spring Winds 89 

Night Speaks 91 

Crucified 97 



PEOPLE TO POETS 

Arise, O ye singers of life! 
Gird up your faith for the fight ! 
Now is the bitterest strife, 

Between darkness and light ! 
Now is the cry going forth, 
Hope and despair in its breath, 
Yours is the battle of worth, 

Life against Death ! 

Yours not to falter and shrink I 
Yours not to shelter away ! 
Unto you it was given to drink 

Of the waters of day ! 
But ye builded your cities of dreams 
Too fair, and too frail, and too high 
The blood of humanity streams ! 
We wither ! we die 1 



10 PEOPLE TO POETS 

Establish your heaven on earth, 
O ye who have life in your hands ! 
Quicken our seed for new birth 1 

Water our lands ! 
Famine and drought have us bound, 
We have drained the last dregs of the cup ! 
Feed us and cherish our wound ! 

The cry goeth up ! 

Grief hath so swollen our eyes 

With passion and tears, we are blind! 

We grope for the good and the wise ! 

We would follow behind ! 
O sit not and weep for our tears 
Lest ye too be prisoned in night, 
Share not our pains and our fears — 

Fight the good fight 1 

Unto whom shall we turn in our need 
If your banner of light fall and trail 



PEOPLE TO POETS H 

In the dust with our own? Who shall lead 

If ye falter and fail? 
But Death shall be scattered away 
When Love brings his sword to the strife ! 
Lead us out, lead us out into day 1 

An army for Life I 



UNFOLDING 

I HAVE strange songs in me, my friend of friends, 
Music, but all unmeaning, severed, wild. 
Not crystallised in harmony, it lends 
No peace to pain, and I am like a child 
Groping in unfamiliar passages. . . . O, come! 
Come! Kindle this chaos to creation's power! 
You can, if you will stay with me . . . and dumb. 
Close, still. . . . Listen! . . . the unfolding of a 

flower. 
Petal for petal . . . hush you. . . . What does 

it say ? 
This rose is in my soul, you, only you. 
Can hold the noises of the world away. 
Can teach me that the truth of it is true. 



12 



IN THE MIRROR 

Now before the glass I stand 

With my chin cupped in my hand, 

Wondering if I see my face 

As others see it, whether grace 

Is found by other eyes than mine 

Whose grey reflections scornful shine. 

Once, long ago, a grave-eyed child 

Whose moon-pale face shone cold and wild 

Between the dim straight falls of hair 

Stood here, and challenged God to dare 

Let her live on, and not be sweet. 

And red and white, with dancing feet 

Like all the others : she said ..." They lie 

Who call Thee good ! 0, let me die ! 

No! Change me now, and after 

Ten years weeping 

Give me laughter ! 
13 



14> IN THE MIRROR 

Touch my face 

With heavenly grace ! 

While I'm sleeping 

With Thy magic finger trace 

Rosy lips and dimples peeping! 

Steep my eyes 

In the blue of Paradise, 

And there 

Drown two stars from windy skies, 

And shake their gold dust in my hair ! 

O, after 

Ten years weeping 

Give me laughter ! " 
Again before the glass I stand 
With my chin cupped in my hand 
As then, to ask God how He dare 
Let me live on and not be fair. 
Not for you, O mirrored eyes. 
The melting blue of Paradise ! 
Not for you, heavy brow, 
The crown of joy, crown shattered now, 



IN THE MIRROR 15 

And lost in dust. O, folded lips, 

Down from your touch the joy cup slips. • , . 

Locked gates that hold the surging swell 

Of voiceless hate, while worms of hell 

Consume the heart. . . . O, tragic youth! 

O, sad pursuit of sadder truth! 

O, young cold face, these shadows grey 

Lie dimly there, stealing away 

Youth's right of loveliness ! 0, tears 

In secret shed through all the years ! 

O God, grant this, that after 

These years of weeping, 

Void of laughter. 

Brimmed with pain, 

My soul's the gain! 

That in me, sleeping. 
Flowers of thought that spring from rain 
Of tears grow fruitful for my reaping ! 

Then shall my eyes 
Pierce the mists of Paradise 

And there 



16 IN THE MIRROR 

My soul, wringing eternities, 

At last, at last shall greatly dare, 

Shall bring Thee, after 

Long years weeping, 
Laughter ! Laughter ! 



AWAKENING 

I HAVE been young, and wise, and very sane ; 
I have been wiser than uncareful age 
Whose wisdom has known folly ; I have trod 
Fearfully in the roses, and no stain 
Has blotted my wan youth's fastidious page ; 
I dared not tilt at windmills for my God, 

Until, blamelessly walking my unsmiling way, 
I stumbled on a pale hand at my feet. 
Thrust from the dark unconquered wilderness. 
And lo, out of the innocent grasses where it lay 
There sprang red flowers, passionately sweet. 
Which, leaning to me, crimsoned my white dress. 

Now all is gone, all the old little things. 
The little paths, the little bolted door. 
The little tame birds singing little songs. 

17 



18 AWAKENING 

All is a little dream . . . now wildest wings 

Flame the indifferent air, and soar 

Beyond men's farthest visions, rights, and wrongs. 

Now all my wisdom drops away with tears, 
Low kneeling in the dust I pluck these flowers, 
Then fling my body on the front of thorn 
Hedging your need from me : O, all the years 
Are nothing, childhood is dead, mine are new 

powers, 
New songs, new stars ! By you I am new born. 



I REMEMBER A GUSTY NIGHT 

I REMEMBER a gusty night, and a hill we climbed, 
singing, 

I remember the lash of grass, and grey moths 
winging, 

Smell of earth, smell of sea, smell of flowers grow- 
ing, 

And a break in the clouds in the windy west, with 
one star showing. 

All of the world was left behind in the dim dark 

under, 
The only word of the world's pain was the sea's 

far thunder. 
Men's blood, men's tears, men's cruel laughter 
Were smothered close in the placid depths, and 

could not follow after. 



19 



so I REMEMBER A GUSTY NIGHT 

I remember a prayer we prayed in the wild windy 
weather, 

I remember a vow we vowed, heart and heart to- 
gether. 

Love's faith, love's strength, love's truth to bind 
us, 

All of the loveless bonds of men we broke and left 
behind us. 

Although we walk in the world's ways and the 

world's ways sever, 
Though living sap our life's blood, and dreams be 

lost endeavour. 
Though small sins and sad shames swing up the 

scales in sorrow, 
That infinite short hour shall last to-morrow and 

to-morrow! 



LIVED 

Yesterday we stood together 
In wild and windy weather, 
We were happy in high places, 
In infinite blue spaces — 
Together. 

Yesterday our lips were meeting, 
Heart on glad heart beating, 
We dreamed no possible division, 
Young eyes in mutual vision, 
Meeting. 

We had left the world behind us. 
No trivial thing might find us. 
All we asked of life was given, 
All but wind and heaven 
Behind us 1 
21 



LIVED 

Now lie we separately, weeping, 
In lonely Memory's keeping. 
Sad with imperishable sweetness, 
Comfortless in completeness, 
Weeping ! 



WINTER 

Summer, alas, is fled, 

She is dead. 
Autumn has kissed her ejes 

With cold sighs 
And the hushed leaves fall 

Over all. 
Hear the lame padded beat 

Of Winter's feet. 
Hush, he is stalking on, 

Lean and wan. 
He counts his destined dead 

With wagging head. 
Now his stark lips unfold 

For the old. 
Now his pale hideous tongue 

Licks up the young. 



23 



24» WINTER 

Famine steps after him, 

Dumb and grim. 
Hush, they lie down with Death, 

And their breath 
Mingles and puffs in one 

To hide the sun. 
Hush, hand in hand they go, 

Soft and slow. 
Gathering their harvest in, 

Bodies and sin. 



THE END 

Once I strayed in a dream 
Out of the track 
Which sorrowful feet 
For sorrow trod, 
For sorrow beat. 
I dropped my pack, 
I followed a gleam 
For a smile of God. 

When at last I awoke 
From sorrow's sleep, 
One leaned above 
Compassionately. 
His look was love 
That pierced me deep, 
He never spoke, 

But smiled on me. 
25 



26 THE END 

When night came down like a fold, 

Our peace to cover, 

He was not gone. 

Wrapped round with light 

I was at one 

With my holy lover. . . . 

Now I lie cold 

In the cold night. 

Dawn comes drab in the east, 
I have lost my way. 
Light comes dead 
In the grey wind. 
And wherever I tread, 
Night or day, 
With plaint unceas't 
One walks behind. 

His footsteps haunt my ears 
In monotone. 
His eyes like fate 



THE END 27 



Haunt my desires. 
Him I hate : 
I would be alone 
With my own tears, 
And my dead fires. 

This is the corpse of Him 
Of the shining hours, 
Which lightless stands 
With blank face, 
In Its hands 
Withered flowers, 
Scentless and dim, 
From the holy place. 



WEAKNESS 

I AM tired, tired, tired: swiftly, surely over my 

head 
The bitter waters are closing, and I know that I 

am dead. 
Dead the hope, dead the fear, dead the soul of me ; 
I am done with the fighting now, I am done with 

the will to be. 

I am too tired for the comfort of tears, no more I 

feel the knife 
Twisting keen in a pulsing heart , . . that was a 

thing of life ! 
All that lives in me now, I know, is the little noise 

of my breath. 
I am too tired for living on, too tired for the pain 

of death. 



28 



WEAKNESS 29 

Sea may not come in forever against land, I have 

struggled long, 
I am weary of standing against the tide, weary of 

being strong; 
Let me sleep a little, somewhere hidden in gloom, 
To dream of a presence ... a step ... a voice 

. . . and the deep blue peace of a room. 



DESPAIR 

My courage tires, 

Low burn the fires 

Of hope, of youth, 

Of zest for truth 

For truth is pain, 

And I am fain 

For peace, and rest. 

Within my breast. 

O, I am worn. 

Diversely torn 

By fear and strength. 

Till now at length 

My dread is sore, 

I can no more. 

O ruthless wind. 

Thou art unkind, 

And yet, and yet, 
30 



DESPAIR 31 

I now forget 
Thy buffeting 
And bitter sting. 
I feel thee not, 
Thou art forgot, 
Too dull am I 
To heed thy cry, 
Too sunk in gloom. 
I have no room 
For any thought. 
My battle's fought, 
My die is tossed, 
And lost, lost, lost. 
The poplars sough, 
And swish, and bow 
Before the breath 
Of windy death. 
Down swills the rain 
In gusts of pain. 
And footsteps pass 
In the sodden grass. 



3a DESPAIR 

To and fro 
All night they go, 
To and fro 
In hurried woe, 
I hear the beat 
Of muffled feet ; 
The feet of the dead 
Tramp my head, 
In merciless drone. 
In monotone. 
Sad and dull, 
With never a lull . 
And I sit here, 
With never a tear. 
Too dead to hate, 
Or curse my fate, 
Or wail my doom, 
I sit in gloom : 
I am grown old, 
I am grown cold. 



DESPAIR 33 

Ghost hands hold up 
My bitter cup ! 
It is on my lips : 
Nor slips ! Nor slips ! 



GREEN PLACES 

I SEEK Thy greener solitudes, 

The echoes of my footsteps in paved streets 
Haunt me, and all these weary multitudes 

Press on me, crying out their small defeats. 

The pain of humans burns and aches 

In me ; I have a longing for dumb cows 

Munching in peace by little placid lakes 

Where dragon-flies monotonously drowse. 

How green Thy lovely pasture lies ! 

I would put down my face in dewy grass 
And hide me from the misery of eyes 

Which stab my furtive spirit as they pass ! 



34 



HALF-TRUTHS 

Too often pride is vanity misnamed, 
And freedom is but license unashamed, 
Beauty's a mirage, truth's a lovely lie. 
Faith's an old crutch we hobble lamely by, 
Love's a false glass in which ourselves appear, 
Fear suckles hope, and hope is blinded fear, 
Humility's the vainest kind of pride 
Dispraising self, yet fain to be denied : 
And all these shams we passionately believe! 
O God of Truth, how we ourselves deceive ! 



35 



RESOLUTION 

MoENiNG creeps round, another day, 
Windy and damp, and softly grey ; 
Dreams lie like weights about my head, 
Chaining a willing slave to bed. 
Another day, another round. 
My feet to tread the beaten ground 
Of days, and weeks, and many years, 
A circling track marked out with tears ; 
But all my love, and all my will 
Is bent to circle wider still. 
To reach the utter bounds of earth, 
And give my spirit newer birth. 
To keep my eager soul afire, 
To shun content, still to aspire ; 
And when my vision falls to dust 
Because I seek with human lust 



36 



RESOLUTION 37 

To grasp a star, let dust be mixed 
With tears for marble! Vision fixed 
In living art ! O, I must live 
To shape, to build, to sing, to give! 
Thus think I as another day. 
Windy and damp and softly grey. 
Comes creeping to my window-pane 
And bids me take the yoke again. 



TO MY FRIEND 

When memory, and grief, and fear 
Assail mj heart with bitter stress, 
I am not afraid to come 

Begging here. 
Seeking, for love and quietness, 

Your heart, my home. 

I am not afraid to take 
Peace, and strength, and kindling fire, 
I am not afraid to ask. 
For love's sake, 
The utmost need of my desire, 
The highest task. 

Were I less proud I could not speak 
Thus simply all my need of you ; 

39 



TO MY FRIEND 39 

Less strong, my heart could not confess 

Its mood is weak. 
I could not come were love less true 
For quietness. 



SONG 

O WIND from the sea ! O wind from the sea ! 
Blow gustily 

Lustily 
Over the sea ! 
With thy blast of thunder 
O tear me asunder ! 
Annihilate me ! 
O scatter my dust, 
My mud, and my rust ! 
Mustily, 
Fustily, 
Blind and a-blunder. 
So have I lived, but at last I'll be free ! 
No longer a slave, I'll laugh, I'll rave, 
Rearing, 
Sheering, 
With foam on the wave ! 
40 



SONG 41 

With the elements blending, ^ 

Life without ending ! 
O happy ! O brave ! 
O loving and keen! 
O mightily clean! 
Careering, 
Unfearing ! 
O wind ! O water ! No death ! No grave ! 



YOUTH 

Down the valleys and up the hill 

Comes youth with wind behind him! 

O, in his hands are daffodils, 

And never a bond shall bind him ! 

Beneath the blessing of his feet 

The young green corn is singing. 

O, April rain is warm and sweet, 
And all the earth is springing ! 

The star of the dawn is in bis hair, 
His lightning eyes are tearless. 

O, every venture he will dare, 

And his rebel heart is fearless ! 

His lovely lips are pitiless, 

He spurns the old before him ; 
42 



YOUTH 43 

O, they vainly clutch at his passing dress, 
And curse him and adore him ! 

He walks unshamed and unafraid, 

And wind is ever behind him ! 
O, at his side is a burning blade, 

And never a bond shall bind him ! 

For A. de S. 



LOVE IN THE PINEWOOD 

Where we lie under the trees. 
There is peace at the heart of things. 
And in our hearts there is lone. 
Among the pines wind moves and sings. 
And stars like heavenly honey bees 
Swarm in the boughs above. 

O none may enter here 

Save those whose hearts are true, 

Who bear the light within, 

Whose faith is strong to hold — to do, 

Whose passion thinks no shame, no fear. 

Or any tripping sin. 

This is Love's holy place 
Where all true lovers pray 
To be stripped clean of doubt. 
44 



LOVE IN THE PINEWOOD 45 

Now you and I must tear away 

The masks that hide our spirit's face; 

Let honesty shine out. 

Now open all your doors 

And let me come inside 

To your heart's deepest shrine. 

There would I come and there abide, 

Treading those hospitable floors, 

While you make free of mine. 

Is there a hidden room 
Where sorrow hides her tears, 
Enthroned, and blind, and dumb ? 
I come, usurping, down the years 
To oust her, where she sits in gloom. 
Unthroning her I come! 

Is there some chained wild hate 
Wielding a rusty sword. 
Unknowing what to smite .f^ 



46 LOVE IN THE PINEWOOD 

To him I speak Love's burning word, 
Point him a star to win from fate, 
Weapon him with Love's might. 

Is there a starved joy here, 

A starved joy craving food? 

By me his strength shall grow ! 

I'll suckle him with my heart's blood, 

My deepest founts alive and clear 

For him shall spring and flow ! 

Open your doors to me, 

O heart that is my home! 

Love's messenger am I ! 

For Love's proud sake the world I roam, 

And I go lame — but Love goes free I 

And Love ! Love ! Love ! I cry ! 

Where we lie under the trees 

There is peace at the heart of things. 

And in our hearts there is love. 



LOVE IN THE PINEWOOD 47 

Among the pines wind moves and sings. 
And stars, like Tiea'venly honey bees. 
Swarm in the houghs above. 



O WORLD OF BEAUTY 

WOKLD of beauty, hear my song ! 

1 sing because my heart is strong, 
And soars upon the billowing wind, 
And shouts, and will not lag behind 
Earth's stormy rhythm ! I stand high 
On this green wind-blown hill, and cry 
My love song to this world I love ! 
Earth at my feet, and sky above ! 
Ploughed field, and trackless sea, and town 

wind, you shall not roar me down ! 

1 am a lover ! I am grown 
Great to contain you ! I, alone, 
Hold in my spirit all I see. 

And feel, and hear ! All this is me. 

And I am one with all ! O trees, 

Like giants bowed to bend wild knees 

To powers they, shrieking, still defy ! 
48 



O WORLD OF BEAUTY 49 

O mighty, laughter-driven clouds, 

Like thoughts of gods, dark windy shrouds 

Of dying light ! O smoking sun. 

By whom green earth was first begun, 

Your flame-begotten child ! O light 

Chased by the first swift hounds of night 

Across the glimmering fields ! note 

Piped from a last drowsed blackbird's throat 

Against the wind ! O first green leaf 

And flower of Spring's young dancing sheaf 

Of joy! O laughing push of Spring 

Against my heart ! I sing, I sing 

On this green hill my song of love ! 

you are mine ! In me you move, 
And have undying life . . . for lo, 

1 have been touched by God ! I know ! 

For H. de 8, 



I KNOW WHEN YOU ARE COMING 

I KNOW when you are coming 

Wherever you may be, 
For a deep note is humming, 

Ringing, and singing 
You're on your way to me! 

Until as you come near me 
It swells so loud and strong 

The casual world nmst hear me, 
Ringing, and singing 

All of me in song! 

O I am poised for flying 
When I see you lean above. 

And suns and moons are crying. 
Ringing, and singing 

The holy praise of Love ! 
50 



PAUSE 

Beloved, do not move. 
Keep still, keep still, 
Lest the spell break. 
O, let me drink my fill 

From your deep eyes that brood on me above 
Before I wake. 

O, do not press more near, 
A touch, a kiss 
Would come between. 
Never more close than this, 
Our separate spirits, naked, burning clear. 
Have we two been. 

Only your brooding eyes 

Are holding me, 

And your loved face 

51 



52 PAUSE 

Looks now immortally, 

Your guardian thoughts my stumbling quest 
surprise 
In unknown space. 

So in the common maze 
Of trivial things 
Sometimes I find. 
Peering from folded wings, 
The moveless wisdom of your spirit's gaze. 
Passionate and kind. 



HARVEST 

Love gave me grace to love you, and to sing. 

These are my songs ; O, take them royally, 

Thank me no more than any other king 

Thanks his own fields for harvest. You crown me 

In reaping me of song. 0, let me bring 

Love's praise, as children to a guardian knee 

Bring prayers, and bless by worshipping. 

Your smiles and tears my highest thanks shall be. 

Less praise of you than praise of Love there is: 

But you shall smile on this who broke the bars 

On Love's wide kingdom in a single kiss 

And gave me flight above high soaring stars. 

O, you so strongly in my spirit move 

My joy sings you whenever I write Love. 



53 



SPRING AND A LARCH WOOD 

Like a bird with flightless wings 
I ran with flapping arms outspread, 
Singing as a wild bird sings, 
Little heeding what I said. 

Wmd before, sun overhead! 

Down a wet ploughed field I bounded, 
And the smell of earth was sweet, 
All the hills my joy resounded, 
And I felt my body swinging 
To the rhythm of my singing. 
And the rhyming of my feet. 

the joy of being fleet! 

O the joy of laughter 
And the wind's laugh shouting after ! 
64 



SPRING AND A LARCH WOOD 

O the backward push of knee 
Spurning ruddy soil behind ! 
Running riot with the wind ! 
O the joy of being free 
To run 
In the sun, 
Leaping, crying. 
Singing, flying, 
Tireless ! 

the joy of being me! 

Suddenly I was aware 
Of silence in the air. 

1 had stepped 

Where the eyes of Beauty slept, 

And her hands lay on her breast, 

Nervelessly at rest. 

Like a child. 

Wearied quite of being wild, 

She had drowsied from her play 



56 SPRING AND A LARCH WOOD 

And hid herself awaj 

In the wood. 

She had veiled her maidenhood 

In green and golden mystery 

Past which I dared not see. 

I dared not breathe, nor look, nor stir, 

I was so hushed in holiness, 

I was so strangely close to her 

I dared not move to touch her dress. 

I was so bound in quietness. 

The hoyden wind, abashed like me, 

And sunk in piteous surprise. 

Crept to her very wistfully 

Kissing her golden lidded eyes 

With little mournful gusty sighs. 

But I could only hang my head. 

And stand like any sullen boy, 

For lovely Joy had dumbly fled, 

And I was fain to follow Joy, 

But she was fleet, and she was coy : 

Then I was filled with sudden rage 



SPRING AND A LARCH WOOD 57 

For Beauty's green cool sanctitude ! 
And like a beast trapped in a cage 
Assaulted her sweet solitude 
With bellowings rude. 

But . . . shudderingly affrighted 

Defiant courage dropped away 

And left me in dismay, 

Woefully benighted, 

Daring not to stay. 

I had desecrated 

Beauty where her angels shine 

At her holiest shrine ; 

Whimpering I hated 

All that looked divine. 

Peevislily I mumbled, 

Sobbing out my little grief. 

And like a hunted thief 

Knew not where I stumbled, 

Groping for relief. 

wonder past belief! 



58 SPRING AND A LARCH WOOD 

Where mj rude feet had gone 

Growing by, 

A solitary primrose shone, 

An opened eye ! 

Beauty looked at me. 

Beauty smiled. 

Beauty stared unfrenzledly, 

Undefiled. 

Then I hid my face, 
And crawled away 
To a secret s-unless place 
Peacefully to pray. 



MARCH WINDS 

Blow, winds, blow! 

North, south, east, and west ! 

Blow, winds, blow ! 

Give the sluggard world no rest ! 

Lash the trees to screaming rage ! 

Whip the seas to hymns of thunder ! 

Close the lips of withered age ! 

Mammon's smiling gardens plunder ! 

Blow, winds, blow ! 

Out, out! Rave and shout! 

Blow, winds, blow 

Spirit in and ashes out! 

Kindle all the dying fires ! 

Smite all chains that lie unriven ! 

Rouse in man a God's desires ! 

Shake the fixed stars of heaven ! 



59 



60 MARCH WINDS 

Shatter ! Shatter ! 
Rend and scatter 
Feeble faith and false illusion ! 
Out of death and devastation, 
Out of chaos and confusion 
There shall spring a new creation ! 
There shall rise the towers of Truth 
From the rebel hand of Youth ! 
Blow, winds, blow ! 



BEETHOVEN 

Beneath the single lamp's pale glow 

She sits enthroned, her fair round head 

Held high, her tiny body thrilled 

To power, while from her fingers flow 

The deathless torrents of the dead 

Whose living voice may not be stilled 

By death, him who with closed eyes 

Listens, his sombre lips tight locked 

Upon a song unsung, as one 

Deaf to the world, seeking harmonies 

Of all the spheres, a spirit rocked 

In silence, nourished of the sun, 

Beethoven! His are thunder and sleep. 

Calvary, and the silver rain 

Of peace ! He wrung his heart of blood 

To pour like manna in the deep 

Places where no love or pain 
61 



m BEETHOVEN 

May reach to give the spirit food 
Save love and pain like his: for he 
So faithfully loved life he gave 
His holy spirit shape, and then. 
Beneficent, sent it forth to be 
A saviour of mankind, to save 
All strong and suffering hearts of men. 
Weak hearts must faint before his tide. 
Which storms their cliffs with little ruth, 
But those deep visioned and un-calm, 
Who hurl themselves on Time, and ride 
His tameless hours to hound down Truth, 
May dare his battle, and take his balm. 

Born of his spirit, and cast in his mould. 
To utter him ! She was made for this ! 
See, her live look of him ! Brows bent. 
Mouth locked In that grim smiling fold, 
Dark deep, Ineffable. . . . She is 
His image, and his Instrument. 
She breasts his billows like a gull! 



BEETHOVEN 63 

He is her elemental sea 
Wherein alone her passions move, 
And her clear spirit breathes its full: 
Brave, tender, deep, and free. 
She is his child, and loves to love, 
Which is the word by which we live, 
We who go forth to dare and do 
For life: clear-eyed and motionless 
She sits, her hands outheld to give 
Through them the beautiful and true, 
As if to smite! As if to bless! 

As if to bless, as if to smite! 

Lo ! from those singing finger tips 

Her naked honesty shines out 

As an articulate clear light 

Of love, while on her tender lips 

Is silence! Hear her spirit shout 

Her master's word of love! Hear 

The everlasting battle cry 

Of God ! Love ! O, lovers all. 



64 BEETHOVEN 

Gird up your strength to tilt at fear! 

Carry the word to gods who die 

Where death and the world hold them in thrall ! 

The word that is ours to do and sing! 

The tree that is ours to root on earth! 

The faith that is ours to live and prove ! 

Come to her hands for the sword and the wing ! 

Come to her hands for the glad new birth ! 

Come to her hands for the founts of Love ! 

Her hands shall smite the coward down, 

And her hands shall bless the truth in you, 

Though dumb her eyes, and dumb her lip, 

She bids you aspire her master's crown. 

She bids you to his word be true. 

She bids you join their fellowship! 

See where he listens with closed eyes 

Whereon the mists of death lie dim, 

He who knows all of heaven and hell. 

Deaf to the world, manblind, godwise. 

Smiles like a god, half sweet, half grim, 

And says ..." my singer, it is well! " 

For Janet Wheeler, 



A PRAYER 

O LOVE, give me a passionate heart 

That my heart may be pure. 

Give me, O Love, thy harder part, 

The daring to endure. 

Lead me not in ways too green 

Lest my faith cease to strive. 

Keep thou thy sword for ever keen 

To stab my soul alive. 

give me thy deep strength to hold 

Thy peace within my breast, 

All sick and sorrowing hearts to fold 

In thy enfolding rest. 



66 



ONE MOTHER 

Mary! 

I'm quite alone in all the world, 
Into such bright sharp pain of anguish hurled 
I cannot pray wise comfortable things ; 
Death's plunged me deep in hell, and given me 

wings 
For terrible strange vastnesses ; no hand 
In all this empty spirit-driven space; I stand 
Alone, and whimpering in my soul. I plod 
Among wild stars, and hide my face from God. 
God frightens me. He's strange. I know Him 

not. 
And all my usual prayers I have forgot: 
But you — you had a son — I remember now ! 
You are not Mary of the virgin brow ! 
You agonized for Jesus! You went down 
Into the ugly depths for him. Your crown 

66 



ONE MOTHER 67 

Is my crown! I've seen you in the street, 
Begging your way for broken bread and meat : 
I've seen you in trams, in shops, among old faces, 
Young eyes, brave lips, broad backs, in all the 

places 
Where women work, and weep, in pain, in pride. 
Your hands were gnarled that held him when he 

died! 
Not the fair hands that painters give you, white 
And slim. You never had such hands: night 
And day you laboured, night and day, from child 
To woman. You were never soft and mild. 
But strong-limbed, patient, brown-skinned from 

the sun. 
Deep-bosomed, brave-eyed, holy, holy One! 
I know you now ! I seek you, Mary ! Spread 
Your compassionate skirts! I bring to you my 

dead ! 
This was my man. I bore him. I did not know 
Then how he crowned me, but I felt it so. 
He was my all the world. I loved him best 



68 ONE MOTHER 

When he was helpless, clamouring at my breast. 

Mothers are made like that. You'll understand 

Who held your Jesus helpless in your hand 

And loved his impotence. But as he grew 

I watched him, always jealously, I knew 

Each line of his young body, every tone 

Of speech ; his pains, his triumphs were my own. 

I saw the down come on his cheeks with dread. 

And soon I had to reach to hold his head 

And stroke his mop of hair. I watched his eyes 

When women crossed his ways, and I was wise 

For him who had no wisdom. He was young, 

And loathed my care, and lashed me with youth's 

tongue. 
Splendidly merciless, casual of age, his scorn 
Was sweet to me of whom his strength was born. 
• . . Besides, when he was more than six foot tall 
He kept the smile he had when he was small ! . . . 
And still no woman had him. I was glad 
Of that — and then — O God! The world ran 

mad! 



ONE MOTHER 69 

Almost before I knew, this noise was war; 
Death and not women took the son I bore. . . . 

You'll know liim when you see him : first of all 

Because he'll smile that way when he was small ; 

And then his eyes ! They never changed from blue 

To duller grey, as other children's do. 

But like his childish dreams he kept his eyes 

Vivid, and deeply clear, and vision wise. 

Seek for him, Mary ! Bright among the ghosts 

Of other women's sons he'll star those hosts 

Of shining boys! (He always topped his class 

At school !) Lean forward, Mary, as they pass, 

And touch him ! When you see his eyes you'll 

weep 
And think him your own Jesus! Let him sleep 
In your deep bosom, Mary, then you'll see 
His lashes, how they curl, so childishly 
You'll weep again, and rock him on your heart 
As I did once, that night we had to part. 
He'll come to you all bloody and be-mired, 



70 ONE MOTHER 

But let him sleep, my dear, for he'll be tired, 
And very shy. If he'd come home to me 
I wouldn't ask the neighbours in to tea. . . 
He always hated crowds. . . I'd let him be. . . 

And then perhaps you'll talce him by the hand 
And comfort him from fear when he must stand 
Before God's dreadful throne; then, will you call 
That boy whose bullet made my darling fall. 
And take him by the other hand, and say. . . 
" God, whose Son the hands of men did slay^ 
These are Thy children who do talce away 
The sins of the world. . . ." 



TO KENNIE 

Have you seen the laughter of grasses 

Where wind passes? 

Sweeping his wild wings over 

Meadows where clover 

Nods and bows 

And golden honey-bees drowse? 

Have you heard how the wild wind hushes 

In swaying rushes, 

And felt the green world listen 

Where waters glisten, 

For the key 

To their murmured mystery? 

Have you seen the delicate lilies, 

Where life ever still is, 

And holy light glimmers 

And the wind shimmers, 
71 



72 TO KENNIE 

Stirring the air 

Into one luminous prayer? 

Even as wind's laughter 

And the hush after, 

And the cool breeze blowing, 

Whence lilies are growing, 

Even so wild 

And so white are the thoughts of a child. 



FELLOWSHIP 

I FOUND a little hahy 
Plajing in the grass, 
Flowers are his playmates, 
And all the things that pass, 
Harebell, and heatherbell, 
Singing lark, and silver swallow, 
Happy baby loves 'em well, 
And his blue eyes follow 

Down the road to the corner 
Where the white geese are. 
Up the sky where the long days die 
To the first pale star, 

I found a little baby 
Playing on the green! 
Hi ! You poor old doddling man, 
Where may you have been? 

73 



74 FELLOWSHIP . 

By youth's pride, and man's delight, 
Folly's fire, and wisdom's sorrow: 
I go forth to welcome might. 
And bid the world good-morrow. 

Down the road to the milestone 
Where all the journeys end: 
A smile for you to take you through. 
Poor old friend, 

I found a little baby 
Playing all day long. 
He's a mighty lover 
And makes a mighty song! 
Big folk, and little folk, 
Clouds, and carts, and all the things, 
Love, and pigs, and men, and smoke, 
He hails 'em all, and sings 

Down the road to the round pond 
Where the swallows dip. 
All of these pass by and please 
To make my fellowship! 



THE GARDENER 

Now I go from thee, 
My little tree, 
Other hands tend thee, 
Hands that banish me. 

I made a garden 

To cherish thy seed, 

Daily I laboured 

Thy leaping growth to feed. 

From worms and all poison 
I tended th}^ roots, 
From blight and black blizzards 
Thy green and tender shoots. 



75 



THE GARDENER 

I was thy gardener, 
My little tree, 
From my own garden 
These enviers banish me. 

How will they nurse thee, 
Thou bright flame of Spring? 
O, may they not plunder 
Thy fruitful blossoming! 

Now must I leave thee 
To travel my road, 
Love for my speeding, 
And fear, a heavy load. 

But grow thou, my darling. 

My little tree. 

In thy green summer 

I shall come back to thee. 



THE GARDENER 77 



Under thy branches 
I'll come to rest. 
I was thy gardener, 
I'll be thy guest. 



LOVE'S GUARD 

When first I awake, 
Half seeing, half dreaming. 
Morning shadows take 
Shape and life-seeming. 

A little sweet ghost 
Calls me, enchants me, 
He and his bright host 
Of memories haunts me. 

His hands seek my face 
Like little leaves falling. 
There is no quiet place 
Where he is not calling. 

It is not well with thee, 
O my darling! 

It is not well with me. 

My little darling! 
78 



LOVE'S GUARD 79 

Thou art stolen away, 

O my darling! 
This is a long long day, 

My little darhng! 

But my love shall hold 

O my darling! 
Strong thoughts to enfold 

My little darling! 

Where thou art . . . sleep . . , 

O my darling! 
Love's guard shall keep 

My little darling! 



A LULLABY 

Sleep, little rose, 

Thou flower of my blossoming, 
Thy petals close. 
Love now encradles thee. 
Lights thee and shadows thee. 
Bud of my winter, and flower of my spring. 

Sleep, little bird, 

The world's winds blow bitterly 
But sleep thou unstirred, 
Lcoe now encradles thee. 
Lights thee and shadows thee. 
Nest thee, my fledgeling, in Love's faithful tree. 



80 



A LULLABY 81 

Sleep, little friend, 

Thy manhood shall testify 
Love hath no end! 
Love that encradles thee. 
Lights thee and shadows thee. 
Weaves thee a banner to bear by-and-by! 



A DREAM IN SUBURBIA 

As I go out into the sun 

To live this first sweet day of Spring 

I think how golden life must be 

Where young-eyed rabbits peep and run, 

And daffodils are growing free, 

And mating birds come out to sing. 

I think I see a cobbled street 

Where blinking cats and children sprawl. 

Where cronies gossip at the door. 

Old cronies, basking in the heat. 

The sunlight shifting on the floor. 

And creeping up a bare white wall. 



82 



A DREAM IN SUBURBIA 83 

Perhaps a thousand years ago 

I vagabonded down that way, 

A sunbeam glimmered on my brain 

And printed it for ever. So 

Each passing year on Spring's first day 

My happy dream is born again. 



VOICES 



Make up the fire, my old bones are chill, 
And breath's all gone a-climbing Churchyard hill, 
I shan't see Spring, friends, something tells me so. 
My golden crocuses'll push and blow, 
And daffodils, and me not there to see ! 
And primroses ! The yellow Spring ! — Let be. 
My rotten flesh'll make a patch of sod 
For shining flowers ! — This toddy's hot, thank 
God! 

n 

Why can't war take men like us, 
Bag o' bones, and incubus, 
Dying heart, and crooked back. 

All that's old, and bad, and slack? 

84 



VOICES 85 

Keep your cannon balls and shells 
For workhouse beds, and prison cells; 
Turn us out into the field. 
At point of sword, lest weakness yield, 
Till there be left of us not one — 
And pray the world be new begun! 

in 

I'm going out to the noise of the drum, 

The delirious beat 

Of marching feet 

Says . . . Come! 

Calls to my blood like love in Spring ! 

Hear them sing! 

Left . . . right . . . 

To fight ... to fight . . . 

The Hun! 

Praise the Lord! 

With a righteous cause and a faithful gun, 

And a glittering deadly sword! 



86 VOICES 

Maybe I'll lie in a field of dead 

With a dead man's body to pillow my head, 

What care I? 

Better to die 

For the call of the drum 

Than sleep in a coward's bed! 

I come! 

IV 

Looks as though men must kill each other,- 
Thafs what the past tells. I don't know. 
Not all the wisdom of books'll smother 
Power-lust and blood-lust. Wisdom's slow. 
And blood is quick, and brain takes fire. 
And a man is chased by his own desire. 



Power ! There's no lust worse than that lust ! 

I hate war! 

Beauty of ages turned to dust! 

What for? 



VOICES 87 

Lest the sword of the strong should rust! 

What does it matter to God or me 

Who rules the sea? 

England or Germany broken and shamed, 

Shall the sea be tamed? 

Let men in their blindness spend and spill 

Money and blood if they will — 

But Rheims ! O God ! God ! 

Is there rape more bloody than the rape of a clod? 

VI 

Hush, you fools, they've killed my boy, 
Him that was my promised man! 
He went out in pride and joy, 
And when he went the war began! 

Flesh, and blood, and bone of me, 

God, my lovely darlmg^s dead! 

1 gave for faith and liberty, 

No woman*s breast to hold his head! 



88 VOICES 

Him that was so hard to bear, 
Him that came a-courting me! 
Him so young, and fine, and fair, 
Here^s an end of the war for me! 

vn 

Yet out of futile strife 

There shall arise 
Purged and triumphant life, 

Chastened and wise. 

Nations shall fall no more 

At one man's word, 
And offer their sons to War 

In the name of the Lord ! 

Youth shall come into its own 

Splendidly free! 
Towers over bodies and stone 

Democracy ! 



SPRING WINDS 

Lovely lady, come out to plaj^, 
For here is spring's sweet holiday ! 

Leave your weeping, and leave your woe, 
Grief may come, and grief may go. 

Leave your shoes and your dainty gowns. 
To follow me barefoot over the downs. 

Loose your riband and toss your hair. 
And lay your lovely bosom bare. 

A silver swallow is on the wing, 
O, how shall you forbear to sing? 

The silver clouds are gay and wild, 
how shall you not turn a child.'* 



90 SPRING WINDS 

I'll kiss your neck, and cheek, and chin, 
But never a soul shall call it sin. 

I'll kiss your lips both free and long 
But never a soul shall call it wrong. 

Lovely lady, come out to play, 
Leave your sorrow and come away! 



NIGHT SPEAKS 

O MEN, little men, be still! 
You with your blood and tears 

My peace offend. 
Have you gathered no wisdom pf years, 
Has Time been so feebly your friend 
That you may not be strong — and not kill. 
Crying * God ! ' Think you there is any God 

hears ? 

Be still ! 
It is my holy silence you rend. 

Be still! You clamour in vain 

When you cry on a God to approve 

One cause of blood or another. 

There is no God that shall bend 

This man's or that man's way. 

There is no God has need of your pain. 

91 



92 NIGHT SPEAKS 

There is no God for whom you may spend 
The sacred blood of your brother. 

Know you not God? He is Love! 
Him you slay! 

Know you not God? Look on high 
Where the royal sun's dying flame 
Banners the fields of the sky ! 
Lo ! This is He in whose name 
You hate, you clamour, you die. 
And drag his proud banner in shame! 
Know you not God? 0, see, 

Hanging over, 
Where she floats in a shimmer of green. 

Like a calm bird of light, 

Breasting the deep of the sea, 

Venus, first jewel of night ! 

Passionate and serene 
As the downward gaze of a lover 
When love like a quenchless torch burns clear in 

his sight! 



NIGHT SPEAKS 93 

This is God ! All is one ! This is He ! 
Know you not God? Look low 
Where the young green grass waves in the wind, 
Laughing mantle of earth. 
In whose green secret folds 
A myriad little lives 
She feeds, where each clod holds 
A world whose life she gives ! 
Earth who bears in her crown 
A myriad flowers sweet 
For adornment of her mirth! 
See how she lays them down 
All these, for a carpet under your feet! 

Know you not God? Look low. 
Him you shall find! 

Know you not God? Lo, between 
Heaven and earth, flowers and stars 
Gleams the last greatest sign that shall prove 
Him who is proven in all! Have you seen, 
Opened in joy and amaze, 



94 NIGHT SPEAKS 

The eyes of two spirits that love, 
Locked in the long golden gaze 
Which breaks all familiar bars, 
Custom, and terror, and shame. 
Modesty's gossamer screen, 
Dreams and despair, and desire. 
Destroying all these in white fire 
Making one song to worship His name, 

Love ! Love 1 Love ! 
This is God! All is one! This is He! 
Love that unlids the soul's eyes 
When passion has burned out all lies 
The ultimate vision to see! 
Love that releases the breath 
Of two spirits divinely to mingle 
On lips that are joined in delight, 
In a paean of praise that none single, 
None joyless may sing in His sight! 
Love, the blithe comrade of Fate ! 
Love, whose pure passion shall move 
From Man's neck the cold burden of hate 



NIGHT SPEAKS 95 

Which he bears like a blind slave of Death, 

And deliver him — free ! 

Love, spirit of all life's forms. 

Love — their activity ! 

Pivot of flame whence swing 

The choiring moons and suns,' 

Leaping sap of the tree, 

Thunder and flash of storms, 

Colour and scent of the rose. 

Motion of birds awing. 

Tide of the trackless sea, 

Law of Earth's little ones, 

Ant, and spider, and bee. 

Song that all lovers sing, 

Pith of all beauty that grows. 

These are God! God articulate! 

He is Law! He is Love! This is He 

Who now is blasphemed with hate ! 

O you whom earth gathers in. 
Going your homeward way. 



96 NIGHT SPEAKS 

Whose eyes have beheld these things, 

The dying sun, the evening star, 

The green fields under the sky, 

And lovers, lovers ... at close of day, 

Peace, when all Earth's creatures lie 

Under the white spread wings 

Of brooding sleep, 

Save Man, listen amid my stillness deep 

How one drowsed, praiseful blackbird sings. 

And judge now, if you may, 

How much against the living God you sin 

When in His Holy name you cry 

War! 

For H. de 8, 



CRUCIFIED 

DONG! 

Hush, on the wind's breath 
Comes limping death, 
Out of the depths below. 
Solemn and slow. 
Dragging its weary note 
Where seagulls float. 
Venturing wild and fair 
On the lulls of the air, 

DONG! 

Listen how humans die. 
And rot, and lie. 
Tolled into heaven and hell 
By book and bell. 
Sinner and saint they lay 
In common clay. 
97 



9S CRUCIFIED 

Dust unto dusty they sing. 
Once more we bring, 

DONG! 

Here thei/ bring no mouldering dead! 
Here no lagging feet may tread! 
Only youth may climb so high 
Underneath the windy sJcy! 
Here no gentle flowers spring. 
Here no larks and linnets sing. 
Only here and there a single 
Wild blue lupin stars the shingle. 
Only seagulls swift and shrill 
Scream about the lonely hill. 

DONG! 

Here, where only youth has trod. 
Very near the feet of God, 
Here a broken temple stands, 
Builded once by rebel hands. 
Leaving all the world behind, 



CRUCIFIED 99 

Temple of the unfettered wind. 

Stark against infinity 

It rears defeated dignity. 

But of its pride there stands no more 

Than the portal of a door! 

DONG! 

By the door there lies weeping the village Idiot. 
They pluck the flower and let it die! 
(Vision is a lonely thing.) 
They wound the bird and let it lie! 
(Thirsting lips most passionate sing.) 
And only madness mounts so high! 

DONG! 

There comes to him a " fallen " woman. 
They mark the lamb when it is born. 
(Hearken how the Christ-bells ring!) 
They sow the tares and eat the corn, 
(How carelessly wild lilies spring!) 
And daily plait the crown of thorn. 



100 CRUCIFIED 

DONG! 

Stephen ! 

Mary ! 

Are you there, Steve? 

Here. 
Stephen, I've got it. 

Got my whistle? 

Yes. 
I stole it, Steve; a girl like me can steal 
And not be much the worse. I'm glad I did. 
But they don't know. 

Not yet. I heard them say 
You whistled crazy tunes outside the porch 
Last Sunday evening when the Word was read. 
And children dropped their books to hear you 

play, 
And Annie Dean — whose baby's born last 

night — 
Stood up and sang as though her wits were gone. 
And so they took it from you. 



CRUCIFIED lOX 

So they did. 
Thej stole it. Give it me ! 

They'll beat us, Stephen. 

DONG! 

Let them! Let them! Let them! The blasted 

fools ! 
Besides, that's nothing new, it's not the first time. 
... I hate that bell. It's got a silly sound, 
Silly and slow, like all their silly eyes. 
It bleats and lies like all their silly tongues ! 
What docs it mean? I've heard that sound 

before. 
Death, Steve, it's tolling for my mother. 
But she's not dead. 

She is. 

She is not dead. 
Death's not like that. Your mother's dumb, not 

dead. 
Didn't you see her eyes? 

They've shut 'em down, 



10^ CRUCIFIED 

And Isabel put pennies on the lids. 
DONG! 

That's right. Pennies'll keep 'em down. 

She's blind as death, but she's not dead, I know. 

She is, cold as a stone, and buried in the mud. 
And all the blinds in Sunnyside are down. 
And Isabel has trimmed her hat with crape. 
They wouldn't let me follow ; neighbours say 
I broke her heart with shame, but I don't care. 
. . . That bell's stopped now. They've finished, 

and I'm glad. 
I'm glad my mother's dead. I'm wicked, Stephen. 

Under the earth, and dumb, and deaf, and blind. 
But she's not dead. I've looked at death before; 
It's beautiful, except when men kill birds. 
And that's not death, that's slaughter. 

And I've seen death ; I saw my baby die. 



CRUCIFIED 103 

Yes, that was death, lovely, and calm, and bright. 
She was like a flower, still in the innocent bud. 

lie was a tramp, and lay beside the road. 
Under the careless stars, and casual wind. 

I thought she was asleep, but her face shone, 
A light was on her lips, she seemed to laugh. 

All the old wrinkles lay upon his face 

Like letters of old pain . . . and sudden peace. . . . 

Her small hands flung out like a little cross. 
She would have been a woman. I love death. 

And his gnarled fists stretched in the violets 
Were clenched and clutched upon eternity. 

When she was born they labelled her with sin, 
And clacked their tongues on " bastard " ; when 

she died 
They buried her where bastards lie, in silence. 



104 CRUCIFIED 

They cursed him when he begged for their dry 

bread, 
But there is peace in death. They let him lie. 
The stars had seen him sleeping there before 
And were not moved: they were indifferent now. 

Her eyes soon learnt the cruelty of living, 

She smiled at that, and shut her eyes, and went. 

He only pitied them ; they never knew 
The pride and glory of his goalless way. 

They knew, that old man, and my little child. 

Old age and infancy are loveliest in death. 
Sin has not smutted one, and from the other 
Sorrow has washed the tears of old mistakes. 
Death was her right, life would have taken 

toll. . . . 
Perhaps I should have left her. . . . 



CRUCIFIED 105 

Left her, Stephen? 
What do you mean? How strange your eyes are, 

Stephen ! 
I never would believe that you were mad^ 
But now you look so wild and your lips move, 
Mumbling and mouthing — Stephen ! 

I am mad. 
But not so mad as they ! They put red roses 
In a butcher's shop. Crimson in crimson 
flesh. . . . 

never mad to me ! Dear Stephen, look ! 
Here I am, Mary ! And you love me so ! 

There you are, Mary, and I love you so, 

1 love you so, I love you, love you so. . . . 

Guy, guy guy, 
Stick him in the eye. 
Put him up the chimney, 
And there let him die. 



f 



106 CRUCIFIED 

They stuck him on a tree, 

And they pierced his hands and feet, 

Sing holy, holy, holy. 

Broken bread and meat ! 

Stephen ! 

Sing holy, holy, holy . . . 
And there let him die . . . 
Put him up the chimney. 
And there let him die. . . . 

Do not sing! Be gentle, Stephen. 

O Mary, deaf, and dumb, and blind, you say! 
Under the ground, with pennies on her eyes ! 
I'm sitting on her grave, and she's not dead ! 
. . . But she was plaiting up the crown of 

thorn. . . . 
'Twas she screamed . . . crucify! crucify! 
. . . Mary, I love you, love you. 



CRUCIFIED 107 

Kiss me now. 



But see these flowers shining out of dung . . . 
Stephen, no man has kissed me so before. 
That other kissed you. 

Yes, but never so. 

You love me. 
Yes. 

The village lunatic ! 

The whore! 
And this between us, Mary ! Is this sin, 
And lunacy? 

Yes, tJiei/ would call it so. 

Mary, you and I ! The most despised ! 
In all our lives men's hearts have felt for us 
Laughter, 

Or lust, 

Or pity, never love. 
Yet now when I look deep in 3'our clear eyes 

1 find no sin, nor anything but love. 



108 CRUCIFIED 

And when I look like this I find love too, 
Not madness, Stephen, only clearest love. 

I have not seen this thing in their dull eyes, 
I saw two lovers once, but they were cows 
Munching a vacant self-complacency. 
Their silly hands were clasped, and in their hands, 
Nothing! Their speechless silly lips were joined. 
And on their lips was nothing, nothing, nothing: 
They know no love, or death, those silly sane 
ones. ... 

Hush, Stephen, all the depths are muddied now. 

You know they torture birds to make them sing. 
That's strange, for when he sings they will not lis- 
ten. 

O Stephen, all the sorrows on your face ! 
Mary, all the bitterness on yours ! 



CRUCIFIED 109 

Do you remember when we went to school? 

yes, they called us good-for-nothings then. 

1 was the dunce, and you were wild and strange, 
And played the truant every other day. 

I hated them droning their morning hymns, 

And twice-times table, and their doh-re-mi ! 

Their shiny faces each like all the rest, 

Their tuneless tongues, and vacant, sightless eyes, 

Dull to all beauty, lighting up on pain. 

Exulting joyously in passionless cruelty. 

When I was birched ... I remember all those 

eyes , . . 
Glutting their soulless senses on my tears ! 
I always cried when I was tortured, Mary : 
It happened often, for they thrilled to torture, 
And I was fair game for their little lust. 
• . . I hated their white collars and their boots! 

They called me slut because I wore no boots. 



110 CRUCIFIED 

Thej broke m}^ skin for lack of catechism. 

They would not let me play with Evie Smith 
Because my father drank, and she was proud. 

I never had a father or a mother, 

Only an aunt who turned me out of doors 

From dawn to sunset with a crust of bread. 

Better that, Stephen, than a prisoner's home. 

O how I hate them, hate them, hate them, hate 
them! 

O Stephen, do not teach me hate ! I try 
To pity them, as God forgives my sins. 
But bitterness comes easy to my soul. 

!As God forgives your sins ! There is no God. 

There is! There is! O do not take God from 
me! 



CRUCIFIED 111 

Or if there is we must forgive His hate, 
O Mary, who are you to prove your God ! 

Guy, guy, guy. 

Give her wings to fly, 

Break her wings and choke her song, 

Hang her scaffold high ! 

Sing holy, holy, holy ! 

And then let her die. . . . 

I have seen you hunted down the years ! 

1 saw the marks between your unconscious eyes ! 
Marked like the deer they fatten and then kill. 
Marked like the lambs they rear, and shear, and 

butcher. 
Marked like a pigeon ringed for private slaughter ! 
O Mary, marked like me for crucifixion ! 

God joined us two in handcuffs from the first. 
Linked in our loneliness with Him and isolate 
things. 



112 CRUCIFIED 

Like moons that turn men mad, and fix 'em moon- 
struck, 
And notes I fetch out from a penny whistle 
That sound like lonely stars, and children's tears. 
. . , O child, I've seen you shoved, and shamed, 

and sucked, 
I've seen your lips close up on bitterness. 
And hang apart in vain for food and drink. 
There's passion in pity, Mary, steel in love . . , 

Stephen, I have been unhappy, Stephen ! 

There's hate that puts out stars. ... I killed 
her, Mary. 

Killed her! You killed her, Stephen! 

Yes, I did. 

1 heard you crying, like a singing bird 
Wounded and scolded by a gibbering cat. 
Moaning its voiceless pain and impotence. 



CRUCIFIED 113 

Then I came nearer, so that I might see 

What new device for torture she had found. 

I saw her face, ghastly with its mean fury 

Glooming above you like a serpent's head 

Wagging from side to side before it strikes. 

I saw her teeth. I remember how they shone, 

I thought how white teeth can be beautiful. 

And then I saw you, with your eyes turned up 

And drawn in fascination on her eyes. 

Your hands hung down, your neck gleamed dim 

and soft, 
(You wore a black dress I had seen you sew 
While she was safe away at prayer-meetings, 
Praying for all lost souls like you and me !) 
Your lips half smiled, and trembled, as if to meet 
Her sword with your own lilies, and your tears 
Starred on your cheeks, and fell upon your neck. 
And I was still, because your little breasts 
Curved where the dress was tight, so delicately 
That all my soul cried out on sweet . . . sweet 

. . . sweet. . . . 



114 CRUCIFIED 

all the sins of all the world were blank, 
Looking on you, and all my tumults ceased, 

And all my thoughts were white, as you were 

white. . . . 
But slowly, penetrating that round dream, 
That sudden world of light in which we stood, 
She pressed, her passion stabbed, articulate. . . . 
She said . . , you drew men's eyes, and welcomed 

them. 
And held your sin as honey for their luring! 
And then . . . O Christ ... I saw her clench 

her hand 
And strike your gentle breasts three times for 

shame, 

1 saw her spit on your eyes ... and that was 

all. 
I saw no more. My eyes were full of blood. 

And so you killed her! My compassionate Ste- 
phen. 



CRUCIFIED 115 

Hush! No, she is not dead, her eyes 
Stabbed you with hate, and so I blinded them, 
Her hps had spat on you ; I made them dumb. 
Her hands had shamed your breasts ; I laid them 

still. 
She is not dead, for death is beautiful. 

How did you do it, Steve .^^ They said her heart 
Stopped suddenly in her sleep, and that was all. 

I did not mean to kill ; I looked at her — 
The devil always hated staring eyes. 
I had no fixed intent. It happened so. 
On Friday night I ran wild in the woods. 
Careless as innocence, and swift as joy, 
Playing on my tin whistle, singing too. 
And all my songs were little songs of love, 
I did not hate her, for I love you so ; 
I had forgotten all I must forget 
Of lust, and hatred, and humanit3\ 



116 CRUCIFIED 

But wandering aimlessly I chanced to stumble 
Against your garden fence: I vaulted it, 
And crawled to where I knew she slept, and waited. 
Presently I drew closer, and I looked. 
And by the moon's light saw her lying there 
With wide fixed eyeballs, muttering silly prayers. 
I pressed my face against the window-pane 
(I remember how the cold glass made me shiver) 
Lifted the catch, and wormed my body in. 
She saw me then ; her mouth fell stupidly. 
Round as an O, and showed me all her throat 
Inside, stringy, and soft, and maddeningly red. 
I fixed her gaze with mine as I came near. 
The moon was on me. I was white as snow. 
She did not scream or lift her hands against me, 
But lay quiet, staring, drawing in her breath 
In little frightened gasps and rattled sobs. 
She did not know me for the idiot Stephen, 
But saw me some wild angel come in wrath, 
And muttered ..." Mary, save me from your 
Christ, 



CRUCIFIED 117 

He is too young, and youth is pitiless . . . 

I did not plait your crown, young Jesus 

Christ ..." 
And then, because she lied, and was afraid, 
— But most because her mouth and eyes were 

silly — 
I pressed her throat until her stare went blind, 
And closed her gaping lips, and went away. 
. . . But O, her teeth were white ! I should have 

left her! 
She was not old ! I robbed her soul of death ! 
She cannot see, and so she may not sorrow I 
And yet . . , your small bruised breasts . . . 

remember that 



• • • 



Stephen, I think she died of fear before 
You touched her. There was no mark upon her 
throat. 

Pennies and fear! Fearing and pence! O 

yes . . . 



118 CRUCIFIED 

But Mary, wriggling underneath my grasp, 

— Like a dying fish her throat was — her bony 

hands 
Crossed on her withered heart, and all the room 
Was filled with terrible music . . . lullabies . . . 
And terrible small fingers brushed my face. . . . 

Sleep . . . sleep . . . 

ril not scold 

If you weep. 

Bone of my bone . . . 

Sleep. . . bright and mild, 

Blood of my woman's years . . . 

Weep while you can. 

You shall be mistress and mother of 
man. . . . 

You shall be old. 

And bitter cold. 

You shall be turned to stone, 

And empty of tears. 

My woman child ... 



CRUCIFIED 119 

O God, that motherhood can turn so bitter ! 
Stephen, my mother's dead, and I am glad. 

She is not dead. She will not let us be. 
Hush, can you hear the silence? 

I hear the sea. 

That's all their voices, laughing, whining, scream- 
ing, 
Surging about the valleys of this hill ; 
Out of the shadows all their hands are clutching. 
Clutching at you and me . . . 

We are too high! 
Guy, guy, guy ! 
There let 'em die! 
Holy! holy! holy! 
CRUCIFY! 

Hush, do you hear them, Mary? Crucify! 

Stephen, come close, ah closer! let us love each 
other ! 



120 CRUCIFIED 

Death is triumphant ! only living's shame ! 
Death is not hard, and living is not life ! 

O let us love, and leave the rest behind ! 

Death must be easy after love, my sweet. 

They crucified us ! God will let us live ! 

He loves his crucified ... 0, kiss me, Stephen. 

We are too high, O hands, and tongues, and eyes ! 

Their sidelong looks can never reach me here. 

They may not reach us now. We are too wise ! 

Only the little opening of a door, 

And passing out of living into life! 

Only to spread our human flightless wings . . . 

. . . The cliffs that sheer into the waiting sea . . . 

Then we may flap new tameless wings on Time 

Into eternal freedom! 



CRUCIFIED 121 

Seagulls ! seagulls ! 
Those sorrowful proud birds! — Tm ready, Ste- 
phen. 
We may have done with hate and bitterness, 
For we are on the heights with love and death. 

When we can laugh at life and smile at death 
We have climbed higher than the crucifiers ! 

Our bodies shall lie deeper than their scorn ! 

Our spirits shall mount higher than their vision! 



SONGS TO SAVE A SOUL 
By Irene Rutherford McLeod 

American comment 

" One is exhilarated by a fine and lofty passion 
for freedom, a strong and beautiful spirit of love, 
made glowingly alive and impulsive by youth. 
Even these qualities would hardly render the full 
effect of the natural powers they possess, if a 
clumsy and halting expression, stammering metres 
and rhymes, choked and deflected the articulate 
clearness of communication. Miss McLeod is 
surprisingly gifted for one so young, with a simple 
but effective technique. Her metres are mostly 
always simple, the marvel of them being a lucidity 
of melody that is haunting. Her common words 
are always full of brightness, like a ' host in the 
sunshine ' of Wordsworth's daisies. They dance, 
they ripple, they wave on the winds of her rhythm. 



SONGS TO SAVE A SOUL 

American comment — continued 

. . . Miss McLeod's perfection is in her imma- 
turity, and I cast no reflections with the state- 
ment. She's alive, vibrant, eager, curious, 
impulsive, intense, not with wisdom, but life, which 
is the better part of wisdom. ... It is a glad 
little volume, because it is courageous, bold, free, 
the heart of youth setting sail upon the dreams of 
life." 

William Stanley Braithwaite in 
Boston Transcript. 

" But Miss McLeod's great claim to distinction 
lies in the keen, unaffected joy she has in pursuing 
the desire of her young eyes. Many an old poet 
has sung the ecstasy of youth, many a young poet 
the sadness and vain questionings of it. For the 
health which goes with the ecstasy is rarely articu- 
late till the ecstasy is past — the morbidity ac- 
companying it only too frequently so. So to find 
a poet who is young and glad, and beautifully 
vocal, all at once, gives us a delight in her scarcely 



SONGS TO SAVE A SOUL 

American comment — continued 

less than her own in the world she celebrates. 
Miss McLeod sees magic even in a London fog. 
. . . If Miss McLeod should never write another 
line, she would live as the author of * Songs to 
Save a Soul,' a book that is the very Credo of 
ardent and idealistic youth." 

— New York Times. 



" Now and again there turns up for review some- 
thing which ought to be quoted entire instead of 
overlaid with a crust of inadequate critical 
phrases, many times used. Such a thing is * Songs 
to Save a Soul,' which has compressed in its less 
than a hundred pages all the revolt of passionate 
youth against the stale, the mean and the outworn 
" — the fond, the smug and the blase — the conven- 
tional, the fettered, the cynical and the bitterly 
painful which life forces on its thin-skinned vic- 
tims. . . Instinct with keen ringing challenge to 
life, she sings her ' Songs to Save a Soul ' in elo- 
quent living lyric. Some one once said that 



SONGS TO SAVE A SOUL 

American comment — continued 

' prose is heard, poetry overheard,* and if ever it 
had meaning it has in these spontaneous song-chil- 
dren of this fiery-hcarted youngster." 

Howard Devree in Kansas City Star. 

" But there are other signs which nourish the 
hope of good from the ferment of reckless energy 
in the veins of this firc-girt and man-wcaponed, 
if not man-sinewed, young Brunhild of our day. 
There is a combination of impact and velocity 
which is auspicious ; there is a capacity for style 
with preference for substance ; there arc self-curb- 
ings between the self-loosings or self-lashings; 
there are traces of design emergent through the 
nebulosities of adolescence like a planet's broken 
disk through its envelope of vapor. On the question 
whether this early power is climatic or merely sea- 
sonal, whether, in plain words, it means person- 
ality or youth, whether it can outlast the sharp 
tests of the advent of maturity and the translation 
into actualities, the sole authority is time." 
O. W. Firkins in The Nation. 



SONGS TO SAVE A SOUL 

By Irene Rutherford McLeod 

British comment 

" Another new voice, another brave and beauti- 
ful spirit, young and capable of the poet's insight 
and expression." — London Daily News, 

" The charm of spontaneity. More than once 
the true lyrical ring is attained, and with it inner 
clearness, strength, and coherence." — Athenceum, 

" Here is an authentic singer. Her poems have 
their own rhythm and freshness, and a depth of 
sincere feeling that is rare." — Observer 

" Intensely felt and often aptly expressed. All 
the pieces, even the love-songs, have a true indi- 
viduality." — London Times, 

"Bears the mark of unmistakable, authentic 
poetry. Something springing from the very 
heart of experience." — Land and Water, 

" Her poetry certainly contains and conveys a 
message. We have the refreshing sense of meet- 
ing in it a singer who speaks truths." 

— Manchester Guardian. 



SONGS TO SAVE A SOUL 

British comment — continued 



" Very seldom is she traditional or perfunctory. 
She has no manner to keep up. She has the fresh 
outlook, keen feeling, and sincere expression, the 
* innocent ' eye and voice, of the lyrist, the poet 
unspoiled : whose perceptions are unblurred, spirit 
un jaded, and words undictated. Her modernity 
is unenervated by weariness, though she can ex- 
press the weary moods when they come. Her pam 
and joy are vivid and absorbing: there is no * dull 
narcotic exercise ' in her versemaking ; even when 
she sings of hopeless and premature sorrow over- 
taking a radiant love. She has the zest of town 
and fi'eld, can love* crowds and solitude, and rejoice 
in the beauty of the body. She can abandon her- 
self utterly to love's passion, or carol its peace in 
perfect simplicity, each in its turn with all her 

heart. ..." 

J. A. Dale in Ottawa Citizen, 



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